Little Breezes
by marzoog
Summary: Updated The reletionship of John Meredith and his Cecilia
1. Part 1

It was a windy day. Cecilia, sitting on her beloved hill, breathed it in. The gently rolling slopes going down to the sea reminded her of branches on a Christmas tree, rolling down to the bottom. The smell of the fragrant grass went to her head like the whiskey John Dean, the town drunk, was intoxicated by. It was all _hers_. 

"_Little breezes dusk and shiver_" was the only thing brought to her lips. 

"Tennyson."  Came an unexpected voice.

"What would you expect from an old schoolmarm?" was her laughing reply was she faced the voice, expecting to see her brother. But instead of bright blue eyes very much like her own she found herself staring into the shining black eyes of her next-door neighbor.

"Mr. Meredith!" Her eyes flashed surprise, and his disappointment, "I am sorry, I thought you were my brother." 

"Not that many people who could know Tennyson around here, I suppose." His black eyes reminded her of the glowing ashes in the grate after she put the fire out with water as they crinkled in amusement. 

"Yes," His eyes held her attention like the crackling flames of her hearth, "I suppose not."

_But the wind whistled with its call of promise and beauty out in the great world of sloping trees and the contact with his eyes seemed so less important than the great spirit of the wind._

*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a calm day now. The air hung over her like the wreaths at Christmas over the hearth. It was almost so calming as to be depressing. 

"A dead day" she muttered, clutching her arms around her knees.

"No poetry this time?" the now familiar voice asked as it came nearer. 

"Nothing to describe this kind of monotonous day." She almost grumbled. 

"Monotony doesn't sit well with you, I see." He said as he sat down.

"No, it doesn't. I find that there doesn't seem to be a point in living when one has the hindrance of monotony." 

"That is one way to look at it I suppose, but I think that we only make our monotony. If you think of how important the little things you do for people are important you will be saved that feeling." He said wisely. She had just begun to notice how wise he was. 

"Well," she said in her childishly flippant way, "you're a Divinity Student, so you'd know. Wouldn't you?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Because you have a gift from God. And God knows." 

He smiled at her then…She really was wise. She just didn't know it. 

"You are wise to know that." He said admiringly. 

"Thank you." She said, hoping he didn't not see her blush. 

_Thank you for thinking I'm wise. For making me feel justified. _

*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a cloudy day. It was puffy and white and horrible because she could not see the bluebirds reflected in the sky. She needed her bluebirds now. 

"_I fear; the more is my unrest_"

"Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_." 

"How do you always know to come right when I recited something? And you always know what it is!"

"Instinct. And plenty of reading time." A good-natured chuckle that was almost as bitter as crab apples.

"Why is that?" Appealing eyes. Concern. Empathy. All drowned him. 

"Because I find books are better than people on some points, I suppose."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That you think that."

"Don't be." An acidic smile. 

"Than you shouldn't be." A base pair of appealing eyes that neutralized the compound. 

"You think I'm sorry for that?"

"You are."

"Yes," He looked out at the water, "I suppose I am."

_He is sad, she thought. He has seen too much sorrow. I wish I could put a smile back on his face. _

_And she wondered why she thought that. _

*~*~*~*~*~*

**A/N For Ruby cause she told me to do it. Hehe! I will update when I can, but I guess this can stand as a one-shot. **

**Please let me know what you think! **


	2. Part 2

**A/N Just cause I told Ruby I would continue. That means you have to update soon, lol! I have included references to my favorite poem (The Rainy Day by Longfellow) due to my own dorkiness. Muwahaha. Well, enjoy and please tell me what you all think! **

*~*~*~*~*~*

He was good. While she watched him in the reverence of a younger age she knew that he was so good, so aloof, and so _reverend_ that few could ever aspire to be worthy of him. Those high ideals would take one of the highest caliber to fulfill. They would take a woman of high ideals and higher morals. 

Cecilia was shocked to find herself thinking of these things, and decided to instead concentrate on the sermon. She did. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

"It is a sunny day now, isn't it?" The voice came earlier than usual, earlier than the time for poetry. 

"Yes, the sun is breaking through the clouds. The never-ending Pilgrim's Progress." 

"Really? You must be in a truly poetic mood to say that. I find that the sun has already won. Look." And he pointed to the rifts in the clouds that allowed the sunlight through. 

"I must be in a semi-poetic mood, although I did have two rejections today. Rather disheartening, isn't it? You know why they rejected them?"

"I would not like to guess."

"They said, and I quote, "Your poems need to be tightened up and thoroughly edited, as it appears to us they have not been." So, in short, they ask me to cut myself out of the poems and only be a fanciful sketch, instead of something meaningful and fulfilling to me."

"But isn't that selfish? Are you going to be the only one reading them, if they were to be published?" 

"No, but I write them for myself. Why should I deny myself to the rest of the world?" 

_And she looked into his eyes. Only, this time, she could not be brought to break his shining gaze even for the Great Sprit of the Wind. He did not say anything. He understood. _

*~*~*~*~*~*

"What are you writing now?"  

She closed it faster than a lightening bolt sent by Zeus. 

"Nothing…just scribbles." 

"I'm sure, by your previous expression, it was not that. Keep writing, don't let me stop you." 

"How do you know?" She rarely dared be incredulous over the fact of his constant understanding of things beyond books, beyond plants or flowers or the wind. It was the understanding of humans. 

"Know what?" 

"What to say to me." 

"Because a blind person could see your expression of joyful creating." 

"But you're not blind." 

"No, I'm not." He paused. "Now start writing." He commanded gently. She had gotten used to obeying his gentle commands. 

_She picked up her pen, and he gazed out to a ship coming in the harbor. She wrote, he watched. And all was right. _

*~*~*~*~*~*

The day was dark and dreary, or so Longfellow and Cecilia might say. To others it looked like a sky of robin's egg, and a sunshine of welcomed amber. But souls can see what eyes cannot. Eyes are restricted by cells, caged within themselves, but souls are boundless. She felt the raindrops with her soul rather than her face. 

He was going away. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

"You know, you just can't do this." Cecilia lamented. 

"What can't I do about it?" 

"Leave. You've been here forever….it wouldn't be _here _without you. You don't know how different this place is going to be, how things will change, how the world will practically collapse from under our feet, how the grass won't smell as sweet because only one person will be crushing its scent out instead of two, how…" But he cut her off. 

"Cecilia," It was the first time he had called her by given name, "I don't exactly want to leave. But I feel it is my duty to help those in need." 

"Aren't there those in need here? Why should you give up your entire existence for spiritual fulfillment?" 

"Because God asks me to."  

"How do you know? When did he tell you this?" 

"Last month, when I went to visit the city, and I saw a homeless man. That was God speaking to me. Or when I saw a child scrounging through rubbish bins to get food. God was telling me I need to help people like that." 

She turned away. He was right. 

"Cecilia," His voice was soft as goose down, "Please don't be angry with me." 

"I'm not. I'm angry at life. And at myself." She faced him.

_For falling in love with you_…she added silently to herself. 

He came closer and wiped a tear. "There now." His voice was so calm. "Everything will be alright. Shall we take a whack at _Cymbeline_?"  He brought out an old, worn copy of the tale of the good ancient king and his plotting second wife. 

_His voice was memorizing. To her it contained emotion he showed lack of. And it was just like old times, his voice and Shakespeare mixing with the salt sound of the sea. _

_And, for a while, she was content. Not even the wind could tempt her now. It did not matter that is would crash around her ears soon. _

_She was content. _

*~*~*~*~*~*

**A/N This part is slightly more disjointed than the first, but I did what I could. Inspiration was painfully dry. I hope you liked it! Please give me some feedback! Thanks to everyone who review the last chapter! **

**Ruby: I'm glad you liked it! And thanks for the compliment on dialogue**

**meredithblithe****: Thanks for reviewing! And I'm glad you liked it. It is pretty sappy isn't it? I guess it has to do with the fact I'm such a prude I have to get my sappiness out some how!**

**Miri****: I'm so glad you love it! And it really brightens my day to think someone thinks I have talent! **


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